


Unnamed Soldier

by Syrum



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Platonic Cuddling, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy has already lost one of the three people he truly loves, now he's burying another and the hurt is more than he can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Down

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm a massive dork and need to get on with my DAI fics. It has been an AGE since I wrote animefic!

The death of one more officer in the military was, to the general populace at least, of so little concern that most barely acknowledged it. One eighth of a page of the Central Times had been devoted to the incident, seemingly more interested in the resulting property damage and impact on business in the area than in the loss of a nameless soldier.

They hadn’t even bothered printing her name.

It had rained, that day, as it was raining upon the overly plain casket as it was lowered slowly into the ground. He was angry, beyond furious, the lividity and self-loathing twisting and warping into something untameably vicious within his belly. Rain rolled down the bridge of his nose to drip from the tip, joining the ever-growing puddles upon the ground, mingling with tears that may or may not have spilled from dark, sleep-deprived eyes. He wasn’t even certain who his wrath was aimed at, not any more. Himself, that much was certain, but the man who had orchestrated the hit was dead by his hand, and there was little evidence to suggest others were involved.

The bullet had been meant for him. The rain meant reduced visibility and, while he was still able to use his alchemy thanks to the Truth, his gloves had been rendered useless. They, the investigative team, assumed the assailant hadn’t known about his recently acquired abilities and so had watched and waited, picking the most miserable day of the year to strike.

They had been off duty. As much as fraternising with one’s underlings outside of work was frowned upon, with Grumman in the place of the Fuhrer, for the moment at least, the pair had free reign to do as they wished. It was no secret that the Lieutenant’s grandfather intended to see her married to the handsome General, and while the pair had yet to find out whether they themselves wished for such a thing, they were certainly happy to spend time in each other’s company. They had, after all, near enough grown up together, and while Roy was uncertain as to whether his feelings for the woman bordered on romantic or not, he certainly considered her to be his closest friend.

And so they had been together, in clothes that should have rendered them unrecognisable to any other than those who knew either of the pair personally, leaving a cosy little coffee shop to brave the elements. The day had been pleasant enough, considering the weather; Riza teased Roy about his upcoming birthday, while he insisted that she was not to buy him anything this year, and that he would rather the day passed ignored.

Never in his darkest nightmares could he have imagined the hell that awaited them. Riza had seen the glint of a car headlight off the muzzle of the gun. She had reacted faster than he could think, throwing the General to the floor, the bullet missing its intended target and instead finding a home between the Lieutenant’s beautiful brown eyes. She fell, limp as a ragdoll, glassy eyes staring up at the horrified General as he choked, cried and then screamed for her. She did not move, did not blink, soulless gaze boring into him as he cradled her lifeless body to his chest.

Part of him had expected her to sit up and admonish him for worrying so. To tell him to let her go, that she could stand perfectly fine on her own, and what was he thinking sitting in a puddle of rainwater for so long? He would catch his death, doing something so irresponsible. She hadn’t, though, and when they tried to take her cold body from his arms, he lashed out, screaming at them not to touch her, not to take her.

Because please, God, she couldn’t be dead. Not Riza.

He had been pulled from active duty after that. They couldn’t allow him to continue in his present state, barely able to function, not sleeping for fear of seeing her cold, dead gaze staring up at him the instant he closed his eyes. He blamed himself, which of course meant that the memory of Riza blamed him too. Even burning away the life of the vile creature who had stolen her from him hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been nearly enough.

A flash of gold caught Roy’s attention for a moment, dragging it away from the coffin - now covered in a sea of flowers - as the first clods of dirt impacted with the dark wood. Ed stared at him from across the line of mourners, his expression unreadable. He, in part, blamed Roy for what happened, this the General knew. But, in equal measure it seemed that Fullmetal also pitied the man, and Roy wasn’t sure which hurt more; the blame or the pity.

Roy stood, and waited. He wasn’t certain what he was waiting for, or how much time had passed, but as he stared down at the now-filled grave the Flame alchemist noted distantly that the rain had finally abated. He was drenched through, shivering slightly in the cold of the autumnal afternoon, and without realising it found himself entirely alone.

No, not entirely alone.

“This seems to get harder every time we have to do it.” Whatever trance Roy had found himself in was broken by the low hum of the younger man’s voice. He glanced over at the blonde-haired youth, now in his early twenties, and could only nod his agreement, voice lost to him. Edward Elric had been only a child when his mother was lost to him, and that had simply been the start of a string of deaths the young alchemist could neither have predicted nor prevented.

“It’s my fault.” Roy managed to rasp out, shaking from more than the cold and caring little about what anyone thought of him at that point in time. “It’s always my fault.”

Ed stared at him long and hard, noting the way the General’s hands trembled, the way his lips twitched and teeth clenched as eyes that burned from too little sleep and too many tears darted across the fresh-laid dirt. “No, it’s really not.” Hands clasping his own, black fabric and tan skin blocking his view of the grave site, his view of Riza, and part of him wanted to smack the ex-alchemist for daring to stand between them.

Tired eyes dragged upwards, exhaustion evident on his once-handsome features, and when had Fullmetal grown taller than he? Only by perhaps half an inch, but it was enough that he had to tilt his head and that one motion was perhaps all he needed. Tears he did not know he still had fell from long, dark lashes, face crumpling as Roy’s knees gave out and he found himself kneeling upon the sodden ground, dragging the blonde to the floor with him. Strong arms held him tightly; arms he only scarcely remembered as once belonging to the scrawny, precocious twelve year old that had held a blade to the throat of the then-Fuhrer, the headstrong fifteen year old who disregarded almost all of the orders Roy issued him with, or the blossoming eighteen year old who had finally learned to smile without pain.

Roy gripped back just as tightly, face buried in the dark woollen coat that barely reached Ed’s wrists, screaming out his agony into the scratchy fabric. He hurt, a pain that he had tried desperately to forget after the loss of Maes, one that would never truly leave him. It was sharp, unrelenting, like a knife twisting in his gut, heart long-since shattered into pieces, and it was breaking him apart him from the inside.

“Come on, Mustang. I’ll drive you home.” He let himself be lifted, tears long-since dried and quiet, heart-rending sobs all that remained of his anguished screams. He cared little for how long they had been sat there, soaked to the bone at the graveside of a fallen comrade who was so much more than just that. His knees protested as he stood, dragged to his feet by the equally stiff blonde, but the pain in his legs helped at least somewhat in easing the pain in his chest. It was dark, near black as pitch in the cemetery, putting the hour some time after eight perhaps, and it had not been anything like this dark when he had arrived some four hours prior if his timing was correct.

For what little it mattered. He was without Riza, without one of only two friends who had been with him through everything, and who had both been ripped away from him forever, who he had trusted and loved and would have died for given the chance.

No, that wasn’t right; Roy found himself staring at Fullmetal as the younger man bundled him into the passenger seat before making his own way around to the driver’s side. Three friends, he thought, as the engine came to life and they pulled away from the silent graveyard, leaving the dead to rest.


	2. My Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in two minds about how I want this to go. We'll see how it turns out in the end.
> 
> (Really, this is just an exercise in making myself cry, playing with my two favourite pairings and putting several headcannons down on paper.)

“This isn’t my house.” Stating the obvious would, usually, have drawn some sarcastic quip from the ex-alchemist. Instead, Ed simply opened the passenger door and waited for Roy to step from the car before closing it once the older man was clear.

“No, it’s mine.” A nudge to his elbow, and Roy took the hint, following the blonde to the front door of the temporary accommodation afforded to military personnel who were only remaining in the area for a short time and stepping over the threshold just as the rain started up again, fat droplets impacting with the already wet pavement, joining their brethren in the deep puddles left where the paving wasn’t entirely level.

He wanted to thank the blonde, to say something, anything, and yet he could find no words for what he wished to express. They remained in silence after the door clicked shut and Ed locked it securely, stripping off sodden coats and boots before standing somewhat awkwardly in the brightly lit hallway, each pondering for a moment on what to do about their soaked-through clothing, shirts and dress pants stuck to ice-cold chests and thighs.

“Why bring me here?” Roy broke the silence, and also their short stalemate, unbuttoning his near enough transparent shirt and letting it fall to the floor with a wet squelch, the action less awkward than either of them had anticipated.

“I’m not leaving you on your own, not tonight.” Ed followed in kind, before pulling off his socks and peeling the black trousers from his hips. It went unspoken between them, the silent plea by the younger man for Roy to remain by his side, a desperate desire not to be alone with his thoughts. _Don’t leave me too._

They barely left each other’s company after that; Roy showered to take the chill off while Ed towel dried his own hair, leaving the damp strands loose around his shoulders and down his back. Ed sat at the kitchen table while Roy cooked, and although neither one felt like eating their plates were at least mostly clear by the time they stood from the table to wash what few pots they had dirtied.

The small terraced house contained only one bedroom, and while large enough for a double bed and a wardrobe, it held scant little else. They didn’t discuss sleeping arrangements, simply slipping into each of their roles; Roy took the side closest to the small window, while Ed remained nearest the door, both men silently staring up at the ceiling, the street lamp outside casting an eerie orange glow through the room even past the drawn curtains. They did not want to talk, didn’t need to, each lost to their own thoughts.

Grief claimed Roy once more as the sun rose. Fitful, unfulfilling sleep had left him exhausted, shaking, face pressed into the unfamiliar pillow to muffle the sounds of his cries. The dreams had assaulted him continually, whenever he managed to drift off, as they had since the incident. He knew he could not continue like that for much longer, not if he wished to keep what remained of his sanity intact.

Long fingers played across his bare back, rubbing circles on the over-sensitised and still somehow cold skin there, drawing the General’s attention. He thought nothing of it as he was pulled into a sleepy embrace, limbs tangling together, flesh against flesh against metal until it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. He sought out the warmth of the other man, instinctively pressing himself as close as he could, until he found his nose buried in golden tresses at the crook of Edward’s neck, inhaling that familiar scent as he shook uncontrollably. Tears spilled over, leaving damp trails over scars and skin, and Roy was certain from the way Ed’s chest shook in his grasp that he was just as lost to his grief as the Flame alchemist.

It should have appeared sexual, their closeness, and yet it was not. There was need there, and want, and all of it emotional in nature and linked too closely to their shared despair to be anything other than what it appeared to be.

“I should go.” The dark-haired alchemist made no move to leave, despite what he may have said, and while the tears had long since dried and the time for breakfast hours past, neither man had chosen to move from their shared bed. They had separated only far enough that it made their anguish-laden breathing easier, Roy’s head tucked neatly beneath Ed’s chin while the younger man resumed the slow trails across his friend’s back, fingers ceasing only momentarily as Roy spoke.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” The words were mumbled so quietly, and the traffic and chatter outside the window so loud, that they were almost lost entirely. Roy simply nodded to show he had heard, hand upon the blonde’s hip giving a small squeeze, pads of his fingers finding an old scar and tracing it.

In truth, the General had nowhere to be, nothing to do, save for wallow in his own grief and drown his sorrows in the bottle of whisky Riza had meant to give him as part of his birthday present.

Roy’s heart gave an involuntary clench at the thought; she had, of course, ignored his instruction entirely and had already procured the bottle for him, with the intention of adding something unknown to complete the gift. After the incident, Havok had been the one to hand it over, explaining that she had stored it in the office for safe-keeping. She hadn’t even had chance to wrap it.

His birthday was the following day, and he would be spending it without her, agony blooming in his chest at the thought.

_“I hate birthdays.” Roy sulked, the small pout drawing a light, tinkling laugh from the off-duty Lieutenant._

_“You only hate them now because you’re getting old.” She had teased him mercilessly the previous year about his aversion to his ‘special day’, and it seemed she had every intention of doing the same this year._

_“Let’s see how you feel about them when you’re the one approaching forty!” She simply rolled her eyes at him and smiled, an expression which he could not help but return. Standing, he kissed her cheek as he passed, the action familiar enough that she angled her face on instinct, flicking through the diary in front of her as he strode to the back of the cafe in search of the restrooms._

“You loved her.” It wasn’t a question, though Roy nodded his agreement anyway. The silence had stretched on through lunchtime, and Ed’s voice seemed overly loud in the stillness of the bedroom.

“So did you.” The arms around him tightened reflexively, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

“I think, in our own ways, we all did.” Ed rolled onto his back, pulling Roy with him until the Flame alchemist had his head pillowed upon the younger man’s chest, one arm draped across his subordinate’s stomach. “Not in the way you did, of course, but it was still love.” Roy shook his head, nose bumping against his friend’s chest. He didn’t need to explain, didn’t want to, couldn’t have anyway with how the lump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed down bile. No one else needed to know that what he had with Riza was so young, so fragile in its infancy, that it could have been shattered at any moment, by either one of them. They were friends first, comrades second, and anything beyond that was small and sweet and still trying its hardest to bloom into something as spectacular as romance.

It didn’t change the fact that he missed her. He ached to be with her; to touch her, to hold her, to give her anything and everything she asked for just for one more moment by her side. He would give anything to bring her back, anything at all.

“You can’t.” And how the hell did Fullmetal always seem to know what he was thinking? “I know the road you’re heading down, and you can’t.”

“I know.” It was barely a whisper, and he did know, but it wasn’t enough to stop the traitorous thoughts from surfacing. He'd already had human transmutation forced upon him once, to willingly choose to do the same a second time would be madness. “She’d kill me if I tried anyway.” A crooked smile twisted at the corner of Roy’s mouth as he propped himself up to stare down at the younger man below him, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. He looked old, Ed noted. Older than his thirty seven years, far older even than he had when the ex-alchemist had met with him a week previous, the morning before the incident, when his only care was the mounting pile of paperwork he had to get done before he could commence his afternoon off.

It didn’t sit right with him. If the pain of losing one of his dearest friends was agony, then the sight of the once proud Roy Mustang, the man who would be king, slowly losing himself was downright unbearable.


	3. Domestic Disturbance

Roy hadn’t bothered leaving the house in the week and a half he had been staying there; hadn’t wanted to, and hadn’t needed to either. They were never short of food, thanks to Fullmetal, and so he was left to wallow in self-loathing. He had neglected to mention his birthday, and if Ed knew about it he chose to remain silent, so the day he had only partly dreaded before his life fell apart faded into obscurity. 

A copy of the Gazette lay open on the table in front of him, coffee long since cold to his right as dark eyes stared, unseeing, at the mass of words upon the page. He wasn’t even certain why he had tried; the tabloids contained little of interest these days, and although the Gazette had printed the most sympathetic article following Riza’s funeral, it went entirely unmentioned after that. It felt, to Roy at least, almost as though his friend was being forgotten by the world as a whole, and while that thought hurt he found that the anger would not come.

The door slammed shut, dragging the General from his reverie, as Ed stepped into the kitchen, throwing his live-in guest a half hearted smile. The blonde seemed to be recovering, albeit slowly, the pain still evident behind his eyes whenever he was certain Roy wasn’t watching. They still shared a bed, of course, but after that first night they rarely touched, sleeping facing opposing walls. Ed would rise early, showering before leaving the house for the day, occasionally returning for lunch though more often than not remaining absent until dinner. There was an awkwardness, a discomfort between them that had not been present before.

“How’s Alphonse doing?” The younger Elric had managed to make it back from Xing in one piece, though he was too late for the funeral.

“He still feels guilty about not arriving here sooner.” Ed sighed, pushing a lock of loose hair behind one ear as he placed the bag he had been carrying upon the kitchen table, obscuring part of the broadsheet. “And he’s worried about you.”

“I’m not the one who-” He cut himself off before Edward could, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes began to itch. A strong hand upon his shoulder, squeezing, and the General let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

“You should really get out more.” The way Fullmetal phrased it was conversational, and yet Roy could not help but feel a pang of guilt at his flagrant abuse of the blonde’s hospitality, to the point where Al had been near enough forced to find a hotel to stay in due to his presence. “It isn’t like you to mope like this.”

“What the hell would you know? I’ve just lost my best friend, the woman I was likely going to marry, how the fuck am I supposed to act?” The anger flooded his veins, misplaced and unwanted but so much more fulfilling than the listless apathy and bottomless grief that he had been flitting between. He was standing before he knew it, fists balled at his sides, clenched tightly enough that his nails bit into the palm of his hands with enough force to draw blood.

“Fuck off, bastard!” Ed rounded on him, seeming for the moment to tower over the older man, close enough that he could smell the strong coffee aroma on Roy’s breath. “All I’ve done is pick up after you since the...since you got here. You think you’re the only one hurting? The only one who misses her? Fuck, Roy, I’d give my arm again, hell _both_ my arms if it would bring her back, but it _won’t_ and I _can’t_ and knowing that she’s gone forever is like a knife in my chest.”

That was all it took; weeks of pain, self-inflicted torment and sleepless nights plagued with nightmares that simply would not abate and Roy finally snapped. Ed saw the punch coming only a moment before it connected, able to move only enough that it missed his nose and instead impacted with the blonde’s cheekbone with a loud crack. He stumbled backwards, partly from the pain of impact and partly from shock. Surprise quickly gave way to anger, though, and the back of his hand left a stark imprint across the pallid skin of Roy’s cheek and jaw. The older man stumbled against the table, and while he had expected the hit he had not moved to block it.

A kick to the General’s shin was unexpected, and he countered it with a punch to the gut as he stumbled forward, earning a black eye and a bloody nose in return. Ed blocked his next punch, and the one after that, easily falling back into the fighting techniques he had honed since childhood. A few swift strikes of his own and he could see the older man beginning to slow, clearly in no state to be fighting after weeks of barely eating, choosing to try to strike rather than block and earning only bruises and a split lip for his trouble.

It was easy enough to knock the Flame alchemist to the floor, Ed taking a seat upon the older man’s hips, hands gripping Roy’s wrists either side of his head and effectively pinning him to the cold stone of the kitchen floor. He expected Roy to fight back, to try to flip their positions or buck the younger man off him. Instead, he grew still, panting heavily and with such a look of pained defeat upon his damaged face that the blonde almost found himself feeling guilty for having retaliated.

“Are we done?” Ed finally asked, raising an eyebrow at the pinned General. Roy simply nodded up at him, before glancing away, his own shame at having initiated the fight evident in his eyes. The blonde rolled off him, coming to rest beside the older man on the kitchen floor, staring up at the off-white ceiling in thought. “You didn’t block.” He finally stated, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to.” Roy replied, not bothering to elaborate.

“You _wanted_ me to hit you?” The blonde asked incredulously, turning his head to look at the other man, finding that Roy had already done the same.

“I think I needed it.” The General mused for a moment, before finally adding; “Thank you.”

Ed found himself grinning at that, any lingering animosity draining from him as though it had never been present to begin with. “Feeling better?” He teased, earning a short bark of a laugh from his companion. Roy accepted the offered hand as Ed stood, letting the younger man pull him from the cold floor, finding strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, nose pressed into the flannel shirt Ed had chosen to wear that morning. For a moment, Roy had no idea what to do, entirely unused to the level of physical affection the blonde seemed to prefer. They had embraced before, of course, but never in such circumstances, and it took a good few seconds for the Flame alchemist’s own arms to wrap loosely around the younger man’s waist. It was nice, if a little strange, standing covered in blood and bruises in the middle of the kitchen hugging the man he had just participated in a fist fight with.

Ed insisted on cleaning the various cuts and scrapes he had inflicted on the older man, gently soothing the inflamed skin with cool water and a soft cloth, before applying a disinfectant that stung far less than one might have believed, considering how vocally Roy complained about it. Ed, himself, had suffered precious few injuries in the scuffle, and while he insisted that he was fine, he did also neglect to mention the potential cracked bone in his cheek from that first punch, if the pain behind the rapidly blooming bruise was anything to go by.

“Probably best not to mention this to anyone.” Ed mused as he dabbed at Roy’s split lower lip, the cut refusing to close up and still bleeding profusely. “You’d probably get court martialed for starting a fight, or I would for punching my superior officer.” He had meant the comment to be rather more light hearted than it came out, and immediately winced as Roy’s expression darkened slightly.

“That’s if I go back.” The alchemist muttered, seemingly more to himself than to anyone else.

“What the hell, Mustang?” Ed simply stared at him, hand stilling for a long moment. “Why wouldn’t you go back? Because of what happened? I thought you were stronger than that.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.” The General knocked Ed’s hand out of the way and moved to stand, finding himself pinned back in his seat and loosing a low growl in response. “I lost Maes because of my ambition, and now Riza is gone too, again because of me. Who’s next? Havok? Fuery? _You?_ ” He clenched his hands in his lap to stop the trembling of his fingers, teeth clenched and staring determinedly past the younger man holding him in place.

“Look.” Ed sighed, moving back so he wasn’t crowding the older man quite so much. “You’re not thinking straight at the moment. Just...don’t make any rash decisions until you’re feeling more like your old self, alright?” He couldn’t offer words of reassurance, not when he knew from first hand experience how fragile and fleeting life could be, and Roy wouldn’t want to hear false assurances from him anyway.

Roy didn’t bother answering, and when the younger man’s hand resumed it’s work cleaning the various scrapes on his face, he could not help but lean into the touch, dark eyes sliding shut, blocking out the world for a time.


	4. Dreams

_“He wants us to get married.” Riza sipped at her latte, long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, hiding the thin spaghetti straps of a dress Roy was certain he had not seen on her before._

_“Your Grandfather?” He asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. She simply hummed her response and took a bite of the cake she loved and he could not stand._

_“He knows you’re next in line to be Fuhrer, he’ll make certain the mantle is passed to you.”_

_“It makes sense that he’d want his granddaughter wed to the future Fuhrer, I suppose.” Roy glanced out of the window; the sun shone brightly down on the cobbled streets of the little backwater village they had driven to, and strangers passed on their way to who knows where, chattering and smiling. It truly was a lovely day, and the General lamented not having thought to bring a picnic with them. “And what about you?” He turned back to his blonde Lieutenant, steepling his fingers as he regarded her carefully. “What do you want?”_

_“Honestly?” She smiled in amusement, taking another sip of her drink. “I haven’t a clue.”_

Roy awoke to birdsong and the first few shards of sunlight slicing through the gap in the curtains. It was cold in the room, but his bed was warm and Ed was a comforting weight at his side. It took a moment for the General to realise that, for the first time in over a month, he had slept through the night without nightmares. Not only that, but he had dreamed of Riza, of her living, breathing, kind and loving self - the accusing eyes had been absent, the glaring finality of death only a lingering thought, and he could not help the small smile that graced his lips at the fleeting memory of what had been, he thought, a very good dream.

“You’re awake early.” A familiar blonde head and barely-there glint of golden eyes through sleep-slitted eyelids shifted that bit closer, the younger man clearly feeling the cold as much as Roy was. “It’s colder than Briggs here, light the fire.” Ed grumbled, drawing a low chuckle from the General who, as requested, slipped on one of his gloves. Within moments, a large fire was roaring in the grate across the room, and the Flame alchemist was more than a little glad that these older houses still had fireplaces in their bedrooms.

“You don’t need to be up for another couple of hours yet, go back to sleep.” Tugging the glove off and the covers up, Roy turned to regard his blonde companion, who muttered something unintelligible under his breath and disappeared below the sheets. Roy could not hide his amusement, or didn’t wish to, and earned a knee to his shin for the trouble. It should have felt strange, waking up each morning in the bed of another, having ‘pillow talk’ with someone he had never considered to be anything more than a friend, and perhaps it had at first, he couldn’t really remember. Still, a month down the line and neither of the two seemed particularly keen on the idea of the flame alchemist returning to his own rather dusty abode. They had discussed it, more than once - or, rather, Roy had brought the subject up and Ed had simply quashed it. It was pleasant, the companionship and the inconsequential bickering that they still shared on occasion, a familiarity that Roy knew he needed but wouldn’t want to put into words, lest everything come tumbling out in one go.

No, he had cried enough the past few weeks.

He still missed Riza terribly; her absence was like a hole in his heart, and since returning to the familiar office they had shared for a scant six months before her death the pain only seemed to intensify. Part of his mind whispered, traitorously, that his sudden attachment to the blonde ex-alchemist was a way to try to replace her, and how could he betray her like that? Yet he was never allowed to dwell over-long; at home, Ed would throw a dishcloth or an insult at him, while at work he was kept so busy he hadn’t the time to fall into one of his dark moods.

“You’re doing it again.” Muffled, only audible due to the near-silence of the room, punctuated by their breathing and the steady ticking of the clock above the mantle. He could feel Ed shift closer, still hidden by the covers they shared, before the younger man wrapped one strong arm around his waist, curling up his back, and lay still once more. “Stoppit.” Roy lifted the covers just enough to see the top of that blonde head, chuckling once more as Ed grumbled at the sudden blast of cold air and curled closer still, pressing his forehead against the older man’s stomach.

“Sorry, I wasn’t brooding again, honest.”

“No, but you were _thinking_.” Ed huffed, warm breath tickling a patch of bare skin where the shirt Roy had chosen to wear to bed had ridden up slightly. “You think too loud.”

“How can I be _thinking_ too loudly?” The dark-haired alchemist raised an eyebrow at his younger companion, though Ed would not have been able to see it. “It’s _thinking_.” He added finally. “It is, by definition, silent.”

“Yeah, and you’re the only bastard I know who can do it loudly.” Roy bit back his own response and hummed his apology, reaching down under the blankets to run his fingers absent-mindedly through Ed’s long, golden tresses, teasing free knots wherever he found them. The younger man seemed to startle for a moment, arm tightening around Roy’s waist, before relaxing into silence once more.

They lay like that until the hum of traffic and early-risers drifted in through the badly fitted window panes, neither one sleeping, lost to their own thoughts; Roy’s on Riza, and work, and whether he should visit the graveyard that evening or not. Ed’s thoughts were his own, and while Roy often prided himself on being able to read others better than most, the younger man remained something of an enigma, and had done since their argument in the kitchen some weeks before had turned physical. Though their injuries had long-since healed, something remained in the blonde, something Roy simply could not put his finger on.

“You’re going to be late.” Ed finally grumbled from further down the bed, and it never ceased to amaze the older alchemist how the blonde always seemed to know, without ever looking at the clock or the pocket watch that both he and Grumman refused to reclaim from him despite his inability to transmute, what time it was.

The younger man, as usual, wasn’t wrong. Still, without Riza present to admonish him, Roy’s arrival at his office a good hour late earned nothing more than the usual low greetings from his team. The thought drew the expected pang of regret and loss from the General, however he found that it passed more swiftly than usual, and he could only accredit the change to the dream he had been gifted the previous night.

“You’re looking more alive than usual.” Roy glanced up from the paperwork he was trying to digest, just barely catching the wince in Havoc’s expression as the chain-smoking blonde realised a moment too late how his statement might be construed to the still clearly grieving General. A mug of steaming hot coffee had found its way to his desk, presumably courtesy of the other man.

“Thank you.” The alchemist murmured in response, and it was not clear precisely what he was thanking Jean for, drawing the mug closer to himself, missive pushed, forgotten, out of the way. Jean stood for a moment, the General’s attention clearly no longer on him, before moving back so he could flop unceremoniously on the Xingnese chaise longue that had somehow taken up residence in Roy’s office.

“Maybe I spoke too soon.” The blonde sighed, earning Roy’s attention once more, dark eyes staring from under heavy lashes. He wasn’t going to make any friends with what he was about to say, but it needed to be said, and no one else, seemingly, had the guts to say it. “Look, I know it’s-”

“ _General!_ ” Whatever Havoc was about to tell him was instantly cut short, as the door to Roy’s office flew open, knocking plaster from the wall. The General’s gaze flicked to the new arrival, frowning at the wide-eyed panic upon Fuery’s face, the smaller officer’s glasses skewed and part way down his nose. “There’s been a report of an altercation in the south of the city; at least four dead with more injured, and apparently _Edward Elric_ is right in the middle of it all!”

When asked later, Roy couldn’t remember what happened in the next few minutes, though witnesses would attest to his use of language he barely knew himself to be capable of, and he apparently owed Falman a new shirt and an apology as he had barged past the man, knocking coffee all down his front. All he knew was that he needed to find Ed, and fast.


	5. It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ignoring the fact that it's taken me TWO YEARS to update this chapter...
> 
> Actually I'm not going to ignore that fact at all - I suck, I'm sorry T_T I hated where I was taking this, and it's taken a long, long while to get it back to a place that I like! Had I continued as planned originally, this would have been wrapped up in one, maybe two more chapters. As it stands...well, I have a bit of a ways to go now. Chapters will likely stay relatively short so that I can publish them faster as well.
> 
> Apologies for making you wait so long, I'm hoping that the wait will eventually be worth it! Much love!

The streets, as the car drew closer to the scene unfolding on what would have otherwise been a quiet Thursday afternoon, were in chaos. Some tried to get closer, to see what was happening, while others tried desperately to get away. Some military presence was on the scene, but they seemed confused and disorganised, near enough lost in the fleeing Amestrans as they tried to cordon off the area. It soon became impossible to continue in the car, so it was quickly abandoned, both Havoc and Mustang pushing through the crowd, the former with his gun cocked and ready, the latter with his fingers poised in preparation for whatever may await them.

Further chaos was all that lay ahead. As they reached the plaza, a series of bodies came into view, some clearly civilians and at least one military judging by the uniform; it was far worse than Fuery’s information had revealed, with perhaps a dozen dead and more injured or dying, their cries and pained moans clearly audible over the ruckus some streets behind them.

“What the..?” Jean swallowed, chewing around the end of the cigarette in his mouth, stick unlit and likely to remain so. They hugged the side of the building to their right, desperately searching for who - or what - had carried out the massacre, knowing it likely that the culprit was still somewhere at the scene, hidden. Gunshots rang out, three of them, causing the pair to duck back into the doorway of one of the now-abandoned shops. Two more civilians, possibly reporters from their garb and the camera clutched in the hands of the taller of the two, fell lifeless to the floor having broken through the joke of a barrier set up to try to keep the citizens safe until the threat had been neutralised.

“At least two, hiding in the windows above, I have the position of one but I don’t know where the second is or if there’s more of them.” Roy turned to regard Havoc from the corner of his eye, the blonde nodding his agreement. It was fortunate they had not moved any further forward; the muzzle of a gun had been just barely visible from one of the windows across the plaza, which meant they were still out of sight of the shooter, and also meant that at least the left side and the stretch of buildings ahead of them were free of hostiles.

“So what’s the plan? Looks like they have most of the entrances covered, so attacking from the plaza is a no-go.” Havoc’s fingers were twitching around his gun, yet his trigger finger remained entirely motionless. An excited nervousness had taken over as his eyes darted back and forth, taking in every small sign of movement, anything which might otherwise have been missed. 

“They’ll be in multiple buildings as well, likely so they can see each other from their positions, so we’re probably looking at third or fourth floor for all of them.” It wasn’t the first time they had been sent in to deal with this sort of setup, and both Roy and Jean knew at least vaguely what to expect from the gunmen. Their only real disadvantage, if you ignored their complete lack of backup and lack of firepower, was in not knowing what the perpetrators actually _wanted_.

“That’s assuming they’re stupid enough to leave themselves open like that.” Stupid, or simply lacking in experience, following the same patterns as too many of their predecessors. Giving away their positions right of the bat was about the worst mistake they could have made, though it was all still conjecture at that point and taking the assumption that the terrorists had left such a fatal flaw in their setup as fact could well be their undoing, Roy thought.

No, they would need to be far more careful than that.

“Let’s just hope that they are that stupid.” Pulling back, Roy made his way down to the alleyway running between the building they were using for cover and the one beside it, keeping to the shadows and moving quickly, Havoc at his heels. He wondered if, perhaps, they should have requested reinforcements, but that would take time, and the three of them had always worked best with one other.

Two of them, now.

Roy tried to ignore the niggling worry at the back of his mind; Fuery’s informant had stated, categorically, that Ed was right in the middle of the chaos they had temporarily left behind them, and yet there was no sign of the headstrong blonde. He only hoped that the former alchemist had not been one of the first to fall, lost amidst the strewn bodies in the square.

A left turn, then a right, dodging through darkened alleyways as they made their way around to what they hoped would be a back entrance to the building they knew contained at least one sniper. One guard, looking the other way, expecting the attack to come from the plaza and not the maze of darkness behind him. A rookie mistake, as he was swiftly and silently dealt with, left to rot beside a dumpster so that his body would not be immediately spotted.

The building itself was near-silent, save for their booted footsteps upon the floor, and seemingly entirely deserted. Though they each knew that time was of the essence, too many having already died at the hands of these madmen, each room needed to be checked in turn as they passed. Just a quick once-over, to make sure they did not miss anything which might prove to be their undoing, and yet each and every one was entirely devoid of life. The quiet was frightening in its intensity, not a single person seemingly present, their breathing harsh in their throats as they traversed through deserted corridors, past room after room. 

The first floor seemed to take an age to complete, the building comprised primarily of offices rented out to smaller businesses who could not afford their own premises or did not have the staff numbers to warrant such an expense. While each room looked on first glance to be the same, as they moved from one to another certain individualities began to become apparent; one would have desk screens while the next might be more open plan. That one might have paperwork strewn across seemingly every available surface, while this might be lacking in papers entirely. A pot plant here, photographs there, all building up an image of a lively, bustling place frequented by potentially hundreds of citizens.

The second floor was much the same; empty rooms that should have been full of life, presented in such a way as their previous inhabitants must have been there earlier that day. Coats and bags were visible, neatly stored away on hooks and under desks. Mugs of tea and coffee sat upon abandoned desks, cold and yet without the skin that would form had they been from the day before.

Everything about the entire scenario seemed so wrong. Why have a guard outside and yet none within any of the empty offices where an ambush would have been far easier? Where were those who should have been working there? A quick glance at Jean confirmed that he was thinking the same thing and as they checked room after room Roy’s concern only grew.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jean’s voice came out as barely a whisper, yet it still seemed too loud in the deserted building. There were at least five more of the taller buildings spaced around the plaza, and as they ascended to the third floor of the one they had started with, it began to settle on both of them just how much of an impossible task they had given themselves.

“No idea, but I have a-” The door at the top of the stairwell opened without protest under Roy’s gloved hand, the handle making an unusual click as it did so, though the sound was almost entirely drowned out by the loud echo of a gunshot further down the hall. Instinctively, both Roy and Havoc pressed back against the wall of the stairwell, holding their breath and waiting for a long moment, yet no further sound followed.

Roy took the lead, keeping his tread as light as possible so as to make little noise against the polished floor. Each room they passed was as empty as those they had already searched on the previous two floors, untouched and seemingly abandoned. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the one room that had been turned upside down; desks and chairs had been pushed to either side of the room, stacked on top of one another to make a large space in the very middle. To the opposite side from the door, grinning up at them from the floor, the gunman sat.

They did not need to check to know that the man was dead. Glassy eyes stared, unseeing, at the doorway, lips twisted into an unnatural smile and hands limp at his sides with a small pistol still sitting in one palm. The cause of death, a single bullet hole still trickling blood down the man’s nose to drip onto his slacks, sat in between his eyebrows.

There was more blood in that room than could come from a single person, much less the one who had remained to greet them. It spattered the windows, coated the walls, though with the exception of the lone body slumped back against the far wall there was no sign of anyone else having been present. Large letters stared up at them from the floor in a message Roy could only assume was meant for him, sloppily-painted in red with a sickening stench that could only belong to freshly spilled blood.

**‘TOO LATE’**

“Shit.”


End file.
